


How to Form an Unconventional Friendship

by KuriKuri



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKuri/pseuds/KuriKuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's raining, cold, and goddamn New Mexico. Then, Clint shoots a guy. It's the start of a beautiful friendship.</p><p>(Prompt: Clint did shoot Thor in the first Thor movie. What would the consequences be further down the line?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Form an Unconventional Friendship

**Author's Note:**

> Yay - another tumblr prompt! I had a ton of fun writing this fill, although I did end up writing the majority of this fic in the notes section of my smartphone. Which was not fun, because those things are really fucking annoying to type on for a long period of time. Anyway, hope you guys like it (particularly my anon prompter), and you can always send me more prompts at authorkurikuri.tumblr.com!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Non-graphic violence, lots of alcohol consumption

The first time Clint sees the guy, he's soaked to the bone and even though it's New Mexico, he's fucking freezing - the rain's practically Nordic, like what he'd expect in Finland or Norway, not fucking New Mexico. It's a miracle he has any patience at all by the time Phil gives the order to hold. (Although the fact that he does have at least a touch of patience may or may not have something to do with the fact that his target looks damn fine with a wet shirt clinging to his abs.) Anyway, no matter how appetizing his target looks, it doesn't make up for the fact that he's been spirited away to an annoyingly rainy desert to watch over a weird, possibly alien, hammer. He hasn't gotten to shoot anything for the past four days, because there's no range and apparently it would look strange to the locals if some out of town-er set up a makeshift archery range in the middle of the desert.

Basically, if Phil doesn't make the damn call soon, Clint just might take matters into his own hands.

Then, of course, a stray bolt of lightning hits their main generator and his comm connection fizzles out, leaving only an uncomfortable static buzz in his ear. Clint tenses, gripping his bow a little tighter as his heart races. They have a backup generator, but it's been finicky lately because of the heat, and this big, blonde, Hercules of a man will be gone long before it's up and running. Phil's undoubtedly at the center of the hurricane brewing below, so from here on out, Clint's essentially alone.

His eyes are trained unflinchingly on the intruder - Hercules, let’s just call him Hercules - as he enters the center of the makeshift compound and approaches the hammer. Clint's fingers twitch and he almost looses the arrow. Almost. There's something about the guy's expression that makes him pause. Initially Clint had thought that Hercules here was a mercenary - some sort of hired muscle sent to retrieve the weapon for another party - but now he's been forced to reconsider.

Clint knows that expression, is intimately familiar with it. After all, that's exactly how he looks at his bow.

Hercules wraps his large hand around the handle and Clint shoots without hesitation. After all, if this guy is even half as dangerous with that hammer as Clint is with his bow, then they're in deep shit. The tranquilizer arrow embeds itself neatly within Hercules' shoulder and his hand falters on the hammer, slipping as he stumbles forward. He slumps forward on top of the hammer, covering it like some awkwardly bulky blanket. Clint closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lowers his bow.

\---

Okay, so maybe the nicely muscled, blond mountain who Clint had shot earlier wasn't actually a threat. Which makes Clint feel kind of guilty for shooting him, even though it was just with a tranquilizer arrow. When the guy had come back around, Phil had had a surprisingly nice (if rather bizarre) chat with him in which he'd insisted that the alien hammer was his and that he was from some far off "realm" called "Asgard."

Also, apparently his name is Thor, not Hercules, much to Clint's disappointment.

He'd been remarkably chipper and open to their questioning - at least until he'd tried to pick up the hammer in the stone to demonstrate his godly powers and was... Unsuccessful. He'd been endearingly confused at first before he'd turned into a dreary little storm cloud. Which leads to where Clint is at the moment, discussing the situation privately with Phil while Thor-the-Storm-Cloud mopes in the interrogation chamber.

"I know it sounds..." Clint starts, searching for the right word as he glances away from their "guest" to Phil. "Well, crazy, but I don't think that he's crazy."

"Barton, he says he's an alien god," the other agent sighs rubbing a hand over his temples. "And while I've seen some unbelievable things in my time with SHIELD, even I can't take this without more concrete proof."

"Well, his abs are pretty inhuman," Clint quips, smirking at Phil who tries to suppress a soft huff of laughter, but isn't entirely successful.

"Watch it, or I'll make you sleep on the couch tonight," Phil replies, although his tone is far too light for Clint to take the threat seriously. "I might get an inferiority complex, you know."

"Then maybe I'll have to rectify that later tonight," Clint answers, leaning in a little closer to Phil and pitching his voice a little lower. "Also, we're staying in a hotel. We don't have a couch."

"Okay, that's enough. We have actual work to do," Phil says, straightening his jacket out and leaning back, recomposing himself, although Clint can still see a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. "Why are you so convinced that this guy’s story is real?"

"You didn't see the way he looks at that hammer," Clint replies immediately.

"And how does he look at it?" Phil inquires, genuinely curious.

"Uh, well," Clint starts, and now it's his turn to bush. "It's like - it's like he knows it. I mean, it's not that simple. It's not just that he's familiar with it, but that it's almost an extension of himself."

"Like you and your bow," Phil supplies, and Clint nods, and even though Phil seems to get it - his relationship with his bow - and accept it, he tries not to talk about it too much, because it tends to weird people out.

Of course, then he turns around to find Thor talking to thin air.

\---

Clint looks up across the bar from where he's been nursing a beer and trying not to look to despondent because Phil's still working and had kicked him out of the compound half an hour ago, claiming that Clint's presence is "distracting." (And, okay, maybe that was kind of true because he had nothing to do and had resorted to stealing covert kisses every few minutes, but it wasn't like Phil wasn't a very active participant too!) Anyway, here he is in the bar, bored and a little melancholy while he waits for Phil to finish up and who does he happen to notice but the blond beefcake from earlier and the older scientist type who'd broken him out.

Clint decides to go say hello.

"Hey," he greets, sidling over to the two men and smiling his friendliest smile.

"Hello," Blondie replies, a wide grin on his face as his friend peers over at Clint suspiciously.

"Thor, right?" Clint continues and, okay, maybe it comes out a little bit flirty, but he's more than one hundred percent dedicated to Phil. "How's the shoulder?"

"It's healing well, as expected," Thor replies politely, although he looks a little confused. "I do not mean any disrespect, but have we been introduced previously?"

"Kind of," Clint says, his tone a little sheepish. "I'm the guy who shot you, actually, and I'd just like to apologize for that."

"It was a good shot," Thor answers, clapping Clint on the back, which, you know, was not what he was expecting. At all.

"Oh. Um. Thanks?" Clint replies, uncertain and confused. "Here, at least let me buy you a drink to make up for it."

"Well, I don't believe it's necessary, but I certainly won't object to it," Thor says, laughing loudly as his friend - Dr. Selvig, was it? - looks on in a sort of accepted incomprehension. "Come join us!"

"If it's alright with both of you," Clint answers, glancing a little nervously over at the other man with Thor, who seems unhappy with his presence, but resigned to it. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No. We'd just finished our conversation," Selvig replies shortly. "I'll leave you two to talk about shooting people with arrows or whatever you archaic sorts do."

Clint almost laughs at that. Almost. Hey - he's being insulted, after all! (Well, he's probably being insulted. Selvig looks pretty archaic himself. Not that Clint's going to actually say that, because he's already pretty deep in the dog house.)

Well, the old guy leaves and then it's just Clint, Thor, and an awkward silence. Therefore, Clint blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind.

"So, what's the hammer's name?" He asks, feeling stupid the moment the words leave his mouth, because although he's the sort of weirdo who gives his weapons names, not many other people do.

Geez, now he is feeling archaic.

"Mjölnir," Thor answers, sounding pleasantly surprised. "And your bow?"

"Katherine," Clint replies, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "After my mother."

And okay, Katherine - one of the trapeze artists in the circus - hadn't really been his mother, but she might as well have been.

"Katherine," the big, blonde alien repeats, rolling over the word on his tongue. "It's a good name."

"Mjölnir's pretty great, too," Clint says, taking another swig of his beer.

They lapse into silence again, although this one is more companionable than before, less awkward.

"Not that I'm ungrateful, but I've been meaning to ask," Thor starts, turning to look at Clint again. "Why didn't you take a more debilitating shot earlier? It was certainly more than within your capabilities."

"Oh. Ah," Clint begins, blushing slightly as he tries to figure out his to phrase his answer. "Well, it seemed kind of stupid to shoot a guy who was just trying to get his own stuff back. We were technically the bad guys in the situation."

"Thank you, Clint, but I am afraid to admit that Mjölnir is no longer mine to claim. I am not worthy to wield it," Thor replies in a distinctly sad tone of voice.

"Sorry to hear that," Clint says eventually, and it sounds completely lame to his ears, but how else is he supposed to respond to something like that?

"No matter," Thor replies, forcing a smile onto his face and trying to brush off the dark mood permeating their conversation. "I suppose there's not much I can do for the situation now. I have list Mjölnir's trust, and trust once lost is always much harder to regain."

"I'll drink to that," Clint agrees, trying not to think about how coldly Phil had treated him after he'd abandoned him and disobeyed direct commands in order to bring in Natasha.

They raise glasses to each other and drink and soon enough Clint's feeling the burn of whiskey down his throat instead of the light beer he'd been nursing while waiting for Phil. After all, if he's going to spill his guts and commiserate with a virtual stranger, he's sure as hell not going to do it sober. Of course, it's not until Phil shows up a few hours later that he really realizes that he's been slumped up against Thor's shoulder on the curb outside of the darkened bar, trying not to cry as Thor tells him about how his father just died and his mother just banished him from his home realm for all of eternity.

"We can adopt him, right?" Clint slurs as he clings to Phil's suit jacket, waving a hand ungracefully in Thor's direction. "Because his mom just disowned him and - "

"Jesus, Clint, how much have you had to drink?" Phil asks, wrinkling his nose, but wrapping an arm around Clint's waist anyway. "And no, we can't take him home. He's a Norse god, not a puppy."

Clint blinks blearily and looks back over at Thor who seems to be doing a pretty good puppy dog impression in his opinion. He lets out a little whine of protest, but lets Phil man handle him into the back of his nondescript black car anyway.

"We should at least give him a ride," Clint protests, trying his own puppy dog look on Phil, which seems to be at least marginally effective, because Phil sighs and then goes back over to where Thor is still sitting on the curb, looking fairly less inebriated than Clint. Clint falls asleep in the back seat before he actually sees Thor get in the car, though.

\---

Clint wakes up to the sound of birds chirping and contemplates murder. Possibly of the birds, but maybe of himself, although he supposes that that would technically be suicide. Whatever. It's too early in the morning and he's too hungover for him to possibly give this technicality any in depth thought.

"Hey," a soft voice says, although to Clint's ears it still sounds like a foghorn. "How are you feeling?"

"Like it would be less painful to just decapitate myself," Clint groans, squeezing his eyes even more tightly shut and he leans into the comforting touch of Phil's gun callused hand petting his hair.

"Here, take these," Phil instructs, pressing one pill against Clint's lips, which he swallows dry obediently, another pill following soon after.

He lies there for a moment longer, focusing only on the soft bed under him and Phil's hand still tangled in his hair. Finally, however, he wills himself to crack one eye open, wincing slightly as the dim light permeating the room floods his vision, even though Phil has considerately kept the curtains drawn.

"'m sorry," Clint murmurs, glancing up at his partner. "We had plans."

"I'm sure you can make it up to me later," Phil answers, smiling softly as he lets out a small huff of laughter. "I'm glad that you’re making new friends."

"We just commiserated over dysfunctional families," Clint mutters, moving his head slightly so that his forehead is pressed up against Phil's thigh.

"And got drunk," Phil adds, a note of humor in his voice.

"And got drunk," Clint confirms.

Just then, of course, Phil's phone rings. Clint winces slightly at the loud noise and Phil resumes petting him, half soothing and half apologetic. He checks the caller ID and lets out a soft sigh, hitting a button to answer his phone and pressing it up to his ear, replying to whoever is on the other end of the line in a hushed tone. Clint closes his eyes again, just barely drifting back asleep when he feels Phil shake his shoulder lightly, bringing him back into consciousness.

"There's some sort of alien disturbance a couple of blocks away," Phil informs him, his tone serious, but still as soft as it was before. "I'm going to go run damage control."

"What sort of alien disturbance?" Clint questions, his voice slightly muffled by the mattress.

"Some giant black robot like thing," Phil answers, standing up and removing his fingers from Clint's hair. "It could be Stark's, but that's unlikely."

"Okay. I'll be there in ten," Clint murmurs, opening his eyes to watch Phil straighten his tie before heading towards the door.

"I'll give you fifteen," Phil replies, smiling wryly at Clint. "We have a Norse god on our side, after all."

\---

In the end, Clint doesn't actually get to do much. Okay, so maybe he gets to make a completely awesome entrance by saving Thor's ass with an exploding arrow, but really it's the asgardian who does most of the heavy lifting. Not that Clint's complaining, because ow - his head still feels like shit.

"Hey! Wait a sec!" Clint calls out as Thor stands in the middle of some strange circular alien design. "You're not going to leave without saying good bye are you?"

"Of course not, Archer," Thor replies, smiling widely, although it’s a little bittersweet. "What sort of inconsiderate heathen do you take me for?"

"Here, let me give you my phone number for next time you drop by," Clint says, fishing around in his many pockets until he comes up with a pen and a scrap of paper, jotting down his digits and thrusting the note into the Norse god's hand.

"I'll be sure to," Thor replies with a sharp laugh. "Maybe we can drink together as brothers in arms, then."

"Sounds like a plan," Clint agrees, but Thor is already gone in a flash of rainbow light.

\---

The next time Clint sees an asgardian, it's not Thor, and he knows two things: 1) that doors open from both sides and 2) that what's just come through the other end is not good news. He barely manages to dodge Thor's brother's spear - Loki, the guys name is Loki - but sadly Selvig and a few others aren't quite so lucky.

Phil is one of the unlucky ones.

\---

He's boarding a plane to Germany with Captain America and Natasha when his phone starts ringing. He checks the caller ID and it’s no number he recognizes, but he picks up anyway in the vain hope that somehow Phil has escaped Loki's clutches and is trying to get back home. However, he's surprised to find Thor's distinct voice ringing through his ears.

"Whoa, hey, slow down there," Clint says interrupting Thor's onslaught of words and waving off Natasha's concerned look. "Where are you?"

"Ah," Thor replies, and Clint hears him turn away from the phone to have a distinctly non-English conversation, although it’s muffled enough that Clint can't identify the language. "I believe I am in a place known as Hamburg."

"Oh. Sweet. We can easily swing by to pick you up," Clint answers, mentally calculating how much time that detour will cost them. "Your brother's been sighted over in Stuttgart which is where we're heading now."

"Ah. You and your betrothed, Son of Coul?" Thor inquires, sounding at least a little more pleased than he had when Clint had first answered the phone.

Clint opens his mouth to reply, but no words emerge. He doesn't correct Thor, doesn't admit that they're not yet engaged, even though he has a little velvet box tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. His chest aches and his intestines clench and he tries to keep it together - to accept the fact that the man he loves is currently in the clutches of a psycho. A psycho who can control his mind.

"Archer?" Thor asks, clearly worried by the resounding silence on the other end of the phone. "Clint?"

"I - " Clint starts before closing his mouth again and licking his chapped lips. "Phil was taken. By Loki."

"My deepest apologies," Thor says after a moment, his voice clouded by genuine emotion. "I was unaware. I - "

"It's not your fault," Clint interrupts, shaking his head although he knows that Thor can't see the gesture. "Look, let's just - let's just focus on finding your brother, okay?"

"Of course," Thor replies gently, his tone much more solemn than his earlier distraught one.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Clint says in lieu of a proper farewell.

"Until that time, Clint," Thor answers and Clint hangs up.

\---

"Can you bastards get your fucking shit together!" Clint bellows, almost hysteric in a way that silences the whole room, which is a rather impressive feat considering how it contains both Tony Stark and Nick Fury. "I don't give a damn about this Phase Two bullshit at the moment. We can rip each other's throats out about that later, but right now my Phil is still under the control of a mass murderer."

"Your Phil? You think the rest of us don't care about him?" Stark shoots back, still riled up from the previous unfinished argument.

"Well you're doing a hell of a job of showing you care," Clint snarls, his voice dagger sharp as he rounds on the other man. "And yes - he's my Phil unless he's suddenly decided to move in with you instead."

"Agent Barton," Captain Rogers starts, and Clint idly wonders if this is Captain America's first encounter with an open homosexual relationship.

"Look, I'm just - " Clint says, his eyes trained on the ground, avoiding the captain. "I'm going to go talk to Loki."

With that, he leaves, ignoring the others' protests and marching through the halls with single minded determination. However, he only gets halfway down the hallway before he's stopped by a large hand on his shoulder. He spins around to snap something particularly nasty at whoever dared try to halt him, but then he deflates, feeling slightly guilty as he realizes that it's Thor beside him. He looks away, still scowling, before turning to continue on his warpath, Thor's hand sliding easily off his shoulder.

"Loki is by nature a Trickster. It will not be easy to glean any useful information from him," Thor says, falling into step next to the archer.

Clint does not reply.

"I will do anything and everything within my power to help you break my brother's spell," the asgardian continues after a moment. "I am so sincerely sorry that - "

"Can you just cut out the whole apologizing thing?" Clint demands, rounding on Thor. "It's not your fault. None of his actions are your fault, got it? He's responsible for himself - he's damn well old enough."

"You yourself know that standing by while your brother destroys himself is not that simple," Thor replies, his tone more subdued.

"I - god, of course I do, but - " Clint answers, his fighting spirit draining out of him as he slows down and then slumps against Thor.

"I just want Phil back," Clint whispers against Thor's armor - Thor who accommodates him, although Clint can tell that he's barely keeping it together himself.

Then, an explosion rocks the helicarrier.

\---

Clint gets back a lover who's physically fine, but mentally scared. Thor gets back a brother whose mental state hasn't changed, but who's been thrown around by the Hulk.

Phil wakes with Clint's name on his lips and Clint cries into his lover's chest, disgusting and raw and so, so relieved.

\---

Clint and Thor don't get drunk together again until a week after the Battle of Manhattan, as it's been dubbed, and even then, they don't really get drunk together. It's more just a series of drunken phone calls because apparently the Bifröst is shot to hell, but somehow Thor (or his mother, actually) has been able to figure out how to make StarkPhones work on Asguard. Of course, it's a series of phone calls instead of just one continuous one because Clint keeps forgetting to not hang up whenever there's a lull in the conversation, although he does say goodbye every time.

They start by talking about normal things - what it's like going about Thor's princely duties in Asgard, how the other Avengers are doing, how Phil's recovery is coming along - but all too soon they stray into the heavy subjects - brother issues, daddy issues, the whole nine yards.

Sometimes Clint thinks talking about these things is therapeutic. Sometimes he thinks he's just fucking himself up more by dwelling on them.

That night of inebriated phone calls finally ends when Clint hangs up during a lull, says good night for the millionth time, and then is too drunk to dial again. He passes out on the couch a minute later, but when he wakes up the next morning he's in bed, curled up next to Phil, and the only way that he knows any of the previous night was real is the headache splitting open his skull.

\---

They call each other when they're sober, too. In fact, more of than not, they are one hundred percent unimpaired when they have their little talks ("chit-chats" as Natasha teasingly refers to them as).

Therefore, Clint isn't terribly surprised when, three days after Thor is sighted destroying British property, their friendly neighborhood alien shows up on the doorstep of Clint and Phil's apartment.

"Hey. Lookin' good," Clint greets, smiling widely as he opens the door wider to let Thor inside.

"And you as well, friend," Thor replies with a happy nod, stepping past the threshold.

They stand like that in the entryway for a few awkward moments, and Clint is suddenly very aware that they haven't actually seen each other face to face for months - that they've really only been with each other in person twice: once in New Mexico and once for the Battle of Manhattan. But just as Clint's starting to panic, Thor pulls him in for a bone crushing hug and all of the tension evaporates.

"I have pop tarts," Clint says suddenly, drawing a loud laugh out Thor, which Clint counts as a victory.

"I am afraid you have divined my ultimate weakness, Archer," Thor proclaims, grinning as he follows Clint to the kitchen.

"So, dish. I wanna hear all of the gossip about you and Jane," Clint starts as he digs a few different boxes of pop tarts out of the cupboard. “You did bring her with you, didn’t you?”

“She is residing in Stark’s tower, currently,” Thor replies, nodding and gratefully accepting a strawberry pop tart. “She mentioned something she referred to as ‘jetlag’ and wished to spend some time recovering from our travels.” 

“Oh. Cool. You’ll have to bring her over sometime,” Clint suggests, moving into the living room and plopping down on the couch, Thor seating himself on the other end. “Well, if she wants to, that is. I know she was kind of pissed at Phil for the whole New Mexico debacle.” 

“I shall discuss the topic with her,” Thor says, his tone optimistic. “And how is the Son of Coul doing?” 

“He’s better,” Clint answers after a moment, taking another bite of pop tart and chewing on it slowly before continuing. “He’s back at work, but it’s hard for him, being in that environment. No one blames him, of course – not really. Still, he blames himself, you know?”

“Of course,” Thor replies wearily, shooting Clint an apologetic look which he waves off, shaking his head. “Have you asked him yet?”

“Uh,” Clint says, unable to tamp down the blush which settles over his cheeks at Thor’s question as he thinks about the small velvet box still tucked away in the back of his drawer. “Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time?” 

“And how will you know when that time is, friend?” Thor asks, quirking one eyebrow. 

“I dunno,” the archer sighs, leaning back further into the couch. “I suppose I’ll just _know_ , you know?” 

“No, I’m afraid I do not know,” Thor replies, although his tone is teasing, laughter encroaching on its edges. 

“Smart ass,” Clint grumbles, although he’s unable to keep the smile off his face. “So, what’s up on Asgard?” 

This, of course, causes Thor to launch into an enthusiastic account of a misadventure of his involving Sif, a cloning spell, and a barrel of fish, which has Clint doubled over in laughter. Naturally this transitions into Clint’s own tale about the time Agent Woo was turned into a very unhappy mackerel, and he can’t help but feel a sense of unshakeable comfort as Thor lets out another bellowing laugh which reverberates through the small New York apartment. They trade lighthearted stories for who knows how long after that and its isn’t until Phil comes home to find them flushed and giggling, sprawled out comfortably over the couch, that Clint even realizes that any time has passed. 

“Hey,” Clint says, his tone warm as Phil takes in the scene with a fond, but mildly confused, expression, waving his lover over and pulling him down onto the couch next to him and pressing a light kiss to his cheek. “Thor dropped by to chat.” 

“I can see that,” Phil replies mildly, giving the asgardian a pleasant smile, although there’s an edge of tension in it that makes Clint pause. “You’ve been doing well since London?” 

“As well as circumstances permit,” Thor responds politely, although Clint can tell that he’s picked up on the edge too. “And you?”

“My recovery is progressing smoothly,” Phil answers, although there’s a certain shortness to his tone that Clint doesn’t like. 

“I do not intend any rudeness, but I believe it is about time for me to depart,” Thor says, standing up from the couch and looking between Clint and Phil. “I should attend to Jane.”

“Of course,” Phil replies, his smile tight. 

“Hey, don’t forget to drop by again,” Clint announces, also standing up in order to escort Thor to the door. “Bring along Jane, too.” 

“I shall, friend,” Thor answers, a little of the warmth that had bleed out of him since Phil’s arrival returning as he pulls Clint in for another hug before departing. 

The apartment door closes behind him with an audible clack and Clint rounds on Phil, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. 

“What was that about?” Clint demands as Phil has the nerve to look back at him with feigned ignorance. 

“What was what about?” Phil replies stubbornly, making Clint’s heart sink. 

“You know what I’m talking about,” Clint answers, surprisingly more disappointed than angry. “Is this about Loki? Because he’s not his brother, you know.” 

“Of course I know that,” Phil sighs, running a hand through his dark hair tiredly. “It not about that.” 

“Then what is it about?” Clint questions, still frowning. 

“It’s just – ” Phil starts before cutting himself off and looking away from Clint. “Never mind. Forget it.” 

“No. What is it?” Clint asks, concerned and a little panicked now, and he takes a step towards Phil, who stands up abruptly. 

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Phil announces stiffly, turning his back to Clint and heading out of the room. 

Clint lets him go. 

\---

When they have sex that night, it’s rough and hard and nearly overwhelming. Clint clings to Phil, his nails surely leaving red marks down Phil’s back as his lover pounds into him, perfectly riding the edge between pleasure and pain. Clint gasps out Phil’s name, babbling and pleading and hardly able to register anything but _Phil Phil Phil_ , in him and around him and practically consuming him. 

It isn’t until the next morning when he stumbles into the bathroom, wincing slightly at the ache radiating from his ass, and looks at the hickeys and marks dotting his neck and collar bone that something clicks in his mind. 

\---

Clint greets Phil with a beautiful dinner that night. A pristine, white table cloth is spread neatly over their kitchen table and an uncommon candle sits neatly in the center, giving off a pleasant glow. Clint’s spent all afternoon specially preparing Phil’s favorite grilled salmon and he’s wearing the dress shirt that Phil had gotten him last Christmas, although he’s careful to leave the top few buttons undone so that the edge of one of the hickeys peeks out from under his collar. Again, Phil looks surprised, but pleasantly so, and gives Clint a slightly tired, but genuine, smile, which Clint counts as a win. 

“What’s the occasion?” Phil asks as he sets his briefcase down and loosens his tie, an inquisitive look on his face. 

Clint just shakes his head, though, and pulls Phil in for a soft kiss. Phil doesn’t press. 

They stick to mundane topics as they eat – how their respective days went, what mischief Tony Stark is up to, how badly Phil had scared the baby agents by sneaking up on them at lunch – but throughout the meal there’s a distinct air of anticipation. It isn’t until they’ve both finished eating and the conversation has wound down that Clint broaches the topic, though. 

“So,” Clint starts, and he’s come up with a million different ways to phrase this, but none of them are coming to mind at the moment. 

“Yes?” Phil prompts, and although he looks completely calm, Clint can tell that he’s worried. 

“I’ve been trying to think of how to tell you this for a while now,” Clint says, and he knows that it’s the wrong choice of words, because Phil’s not even bothering to hide his nervousy now. “I’ve been telling myself that I’ve just been waiting for the right time, but I don’t think I can do that any longer.”

“Clint I – I understand that – ” Phil starts, fisting his hand in the fabric of the table cloth, his eyes impossibly sad. 

“Phil just – let me finish first,” Clint interrupts, looking at his partner imploringly. “Please.” 

Phil looks at him carefully and then nods. 

“We’ve been together for five years, and we’ve known each other for eleven,” Clint starts, reaching across the table and taking Phil’s hand in his. “Somewhere within that time period, I realized that I can’t imagine life without you.

“So,” Clint says, pulling the box that’s been weighing on his mind for months out of his pocket and uncurling Phil’s fingers, setting it in his hand. “Phil Coulson, will you marry me?”

“I – _yes_ , yes, of course!” Phil replies, and a brilliant smile spreads across his face. “Oh god, I just – I thought – Thor – ”

“I’m sorry about that,” Clint murmurs, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I know I was acting kind of strange for a bit, but that’s because I was trying to figure out how to tell you. That’s a lot of what I was talking about with Thor, actually.”

“I’m such an idiot,” Phil says, blushing, but still smiling. 

“But you’re _my_ idiot,” Clint teases, and Phil laughs. 

Phil slips the simple ring onto his finger and leans over to pull Clint into a kiss. Clint’s sure that he’s never been happier.

\---

“Thank you,” Clint says into the receiver without preamble. 

“For what, friend?” Thor asks, sounding confused but unconcerned. 

“Just everything,” Clint replies, smiling, although he knows that Thor can’t see it. 

“Well, I am glad to have been of assistance,” Thor answers, and Clint’s pretty sure he’s smiling, too. “And I would like to thank you, too.”

“For what?” Clint questions, although he already knows what Thor’s reply is going to be. 

“For everything,” Thor says.

**Author's Note:**

> _I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site._


End file.
